


Second Chances

by lellabeth



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: College AU, Just a Meet Cute, M/M, Phil is a Howling Commandos fanboy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-15
Updated: 2016-09-15
Packaged: 2018-08-15 06:02:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8045119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lellabeth/pseuds/lellabeth
Summary: Clint knew that starting college at thirty-one would leave him a little isolated from most of the people in his class. He didn’t expect that literally everyone around him would look like they should still be in grade school, or that they’d look at him like he’d wandered off from the nursing home and gotten lost.





	Second Chances

**Author's Note:**

> this was posted on tumblr some time ago but I never posted it here, so I thought I'd share. <3

Clint knew that starting college at thirty-one would leave him a little isolated from most of the people in his class. He didn’t expect that literally everyone around him would look like they should still be in grade school, or that they’d look at him like he’d wandered off from the nursing home and gotten lost. He wasn’t  _ that _ old, but being here was enough to make him feel it.

His first few weeks had been filled with sitting through boring run-throughs of the syllabus for each class and trying to avoid frat pledge pranks. By the time his third history class rolls around, he is more than slightly disenchanted for the whole idea of college. He feels old and worn out and stupid, like everyone who sees him is judging him for not having the money or intellect to have been to college when he was younger.

So when he walks into the lecture theatre and sees a pretty hot guy in the back row, he isn’t sure whether he’s having a hallucination or not. The man is wearing thick black glasses and a gray sweater, and maybe Nat’s right when she calls Clint thirsty for the Daddy types, because this guy is a mirage if he’s ever seen one. Clint walks tentatively along the row, sitting one seat over from the guy and nodding his head when he looks up.

“Hey, I’m Phil,” the man says with a smile. “You’re here early.”

“My other class finished up a few minutes ahead. I decided to beat the rush across the quad.”

“Smart move. So, are you feeling excited for this class?”

Today’s class was a talk given by an expert in the American history of World War II about the role of the Howling Commandos in occupied countries. Clint had loved the Howling Commandos ever since Barney had stolen a Captain America comic from the corner store. It had been one of the only things the boys had, and definitely the most special. They’d huddle under their scratchy blanket together, a half-dead flashlight to keep them company as they tried to block out the sounds of shouting coming through the wall, the dull thuds of fists meeting flesh. Clint would stare at pictures of Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes with a lump in his throat and his small heart in tatters, getting lost in the story of heroes to escape his own life with a villain. 

It was fair to say that Clint was more than slightly invested in the Howling Commandos, his childhood protectors. They’d been inspiration for him to turn his life around, to claw his way out of hell and into something resembling normalcy. He knew it was trite, or maybe even pathetic, but he also knew it was true. 

When he’d seen the class schedule for the talk, he’d been almost unbearably excited. He went out straight away to buy P.J. Coulson’s book in preparation for the man’s lecture, poring over the pages with excitement that soon faded into dust.

Because P.J. Coulson, he clearly knew all the facts, but none of the heart.

P.J. Coulson knew Captain America and listed everything about him and his missions in minute detail, but he didn’t know Steve Rogers. He knew Sergeant Barnes, but he didn’t know Bucky. Clint had read through the cold, analytical accounts of battle strategies and rescue campaigns with a deep sense of disappointment.

“I mean… not really?” he answered honestly, feeling his face scrunch up. “I bought the guy’s book and thought it was bullshit.”

The man’s eyes go wide. “Bullshit?”

“I don’t want to rag on the dude, because he clearly knows his stuff, but it was so black and white, you know? Clinical, almost. It scratched at the surface of everything without ever getting to the underbelly of it. There wasn’t any attempt to look past the soldiers and see the man. There was context given for each of the places they fought in, but none about where they came from. I think it’s trash, really, the way we remember the wars people fight but not the lives they lead. The whole book was this really in-depth thing, and yet he couldn’t even be bothered to discuss the dynamics within the group or the strain caused to their families. The Howling Commandos helped shape the war and probably the world, no doubt, the guy got that part exactly right. But he just missed so much. In my opinion, at least.”

Phil’s mouth open and closes, like he’s trying to speak words that just aren’t there.

“Ah!” calls a voice from the back of the auditorium, and Clint turns to see his usual professor walking toward them. “P.J. Coulson! You’re here right on time.”

Oh,  _ fuck. _

“Uh, yes,” Phil - P.J. - says, clearing his throat and blinking fast. “Good.”

He stands up and walks over to the professor, the pair walking down the stairs together. Clint watches them for a minute and then slumps into a seat, slapping his face down into his hands. Aw, mouth,  _ no.  _

The next hour is probably the most uncomfortable of his life. Phil is an engaging, informative speaker, but Clint can’t help but notice the man seems slightly strained around the edges. His eyes keep flicking up to Clint and then away again, like he’s afraid he’s being judged for what he’s saying. 

When the class is over and everyone’s filtering out, Clint hangs back and waits. Phil shakes hands with the professor and walks up the steps, smiling weakly when he gets close to Clint.

“I am so, so sorry,” Clint says.

“Don’t be,” Phil says, but his smile looks weaker than ever. 

Clint feels like a piece of garbage.

“I really didn’t mean to sound so harsh earlier. Really, your book was good. I’m just… overly attached to the Commandos, I guess.”

Phil eyes roam over his face, and Clint gets the distinct impression every line of his face is being read like he’s the book.

“The Howling Commandos are important to you?” Phil asks. He doesn’t sound judgemental or like he thinks Clint’s a little off-kilter, just has this open expression and these eyes that make Clint think he understands  _ why _ Clint might be so invested in a group meant to restore justice.

“Yeah, you could say that.”

“You want to tell me about them over coffee?” Phil’s hands fiddle with the leather handle of his briefcase. "I mean I know about them, obviously, but I want to know them through you. See them how you see them.”

Clint swallows hard. “That’d, yeah, that’d be great, actually.”

Phil bites his lip and Clint feels his heart genuinely flutter in his chest.

Clint starts talking as soon as they walk through the auditorium doors and into the afternoon air. “So, the main thing you need to know about Steve Rogers is that he’s a precocious little shit.”

Five years later, P.J. Coulson publishes a book called Howling Commandos: Not Just Soldiers, But Men.

The inscription on the first page reads,  _ To Clint, who shows me the meaning of having enough heart to change the whole world. _


End file.
